Like a Hero Coming Home
by kiboeme
Summary: Deku's final action is to preserve his Quirk for a successor. He appoints the only person present at the scene — friend and fellow pro hero Katsuki Bakugou — to choose who will inherit One For All. Somehow, Katsuki is the only one who thinks this was a bad decision. He's not cut out to mentor a young hero, let alone an entire first-year class!
1. 0 - Endings Are Beginnings (Prologue)

**Opening Comment: **This fic will contain a number of original characters in the _My Hero Academia _universe, but ultimately it is about Bakugou. Hopefully, I can pull your heartstrings and make you fall in love with another crew of students at U.A. Please enjoy, and leave comments!

**Content Warnings: ** I've rated this fanfiction "T" so that it reaches the greatest possible audience (FF sometimes auto-filters out M stories), but please be aware that this fic contains _graphic violence_ in training and real fights, the _death of a major character_, and Bakugou's _prolific potty mouth_. Please take care of yourself as you need to!

* * *

_ "When your time comes to die, be not like those whose hearts are filled with fear of death, so that when their time comes they weep and pray for a little more time to live their lives over again in a different way. Sing your death song and die like a hero going home."  
__—Tecumseh_

* * *

"H-hey, Kacchan..."

God, Katsuki hasn't heard that childhood nickname come from his lips in years, maybe as much as a decade. An indescribable, bitter fury swells in him at the sound.

"Shut up, Deku. You're not in any shape to talk."

Deku smiles, a quivering, weak thing pulled into being by sheer power of will. He gives a single, abbreviated chuckle.

"It always did bother you... when I wouldn't do as you said," he says dryly. His arm wriggles where it's pinned between his torso and Katsuki's hand, trying to pull free. Katsuki clamps down on him tighter with a low growl.

"Don't move," he grits out through bared teeth, though his voice is devoid of the vitriol that would characterize such talk.

"Kacchan." There it is, that stupid damn nickname again. "You're not... a fool. You know... as well as I do that I'm... I might not make it."

He can tell it's getting harder for Deku to speak, and he wishes the twerp would just shut the hell up. He prepares to snap at him again, his hackles raised like a dog's, but the angry growl dies in his throat at the look in his eyes. It's dead serious, more grave and solemn than he's ever seen him. Even when All Might– Even in the aftermath of that, he had never looked so focused.

"One For All..."

Katsuki feels his eyes widen by an increment as he realizes where his head is, and what's really at stake. If Midoriya bites it here, it isn't just the hero Deku who dies. That power, the seven generations of cultivation, would die too. Shit.

"Which is why you should stop. fucking. talking, dumbass."

He draws back, releasing his arm. Now freed, Deku reaches a trembling hand up toward his head and fists it in his nappy green hair. His fingers are clumsy between the shaking and his ripped-up gloves, but he successfully grabs a small clump of hair and jerks it from his scalp.

"What the hell are you doing?"

He slowly extends the lock to him, pinched between three fingers.

"All Might... passed One For All on to me... by having me eat... a piece of his hair." He sucks in a deep breath. Katsuki can hear how it rattles. "Kacchan, you have to–"

"I'm not eating your damn hair, Deku. That's fucking disgusting."

"One For All can't die with me!"

"Then I'll find a different successor!" he shouts right back. Deku's breath catches but he doesn't say anything. Katsuki lowers his voice to a normal volume. "But I'm not taking One For All."

Neither of them moves or speaks for a moment. Then Deku takes Katsuki's wrist in his free hand and brings it between them. He presses the bundle of green hair into his palm. Katsuki's fingers curl around the strands, clutching them in a protective fist. It's a weird-ass way to transfer power, but he knows they're precious cargo. He wraps his hands around Katsuki's.

"Promise… you'll find someone."

"I just said I would, wouldn't I?"

"I mean it, Kacchan." His hands tighten around Katsuki's fist. He nods, solemn.

"Yeah, I'll find someone."

"Teach them to be… a hero… okay? … Like All Might…"

"Or like you, stupid twerp."

Deku gives a weak laugh, and it's genuine despite him being on the edge of nothing. Like he's better than dying, like he isn't scared of it now that he knows One For All is secure. Katsuki isn't sure whether he wants to punch him or laugh with him. He cracks a bitter grin at the thought that maybe Death feels as intimidated by that joy as he did, back in the day.

He doesn't notice that Deku's eyes have closed until his hands slip off his fist and flop to the ground, limp.

"Oi, Deku. Shitty Deku! Snap out of it!" His voice rises from stern to a roar, but the body hunched in front of him doesn't respond. One fist collides with the slab of concrete Deku's propped against. Katsuki punches it again and stays there, knuckles pressed against the stone. He stares at the hair cupped in his other hand and feels the weight of their symbolism. One For All. In the literal palm of his hand. He wraps them back up in a fist and clenches it tight. Finally, finally, he hears the distant wailing of a siren.

"Goddamn it, Midoriya."


	2. 1 - What Happens Afterward

The morning after, Katsuki's phone goes fucking nuts.

He stumbles into the kitchen at the ass-crack of dawn like every other day, his groggy brain still trying to piece together why he feels so heavy. A buzz pulls his eye to his cell phone on the counter, lit up with a notification. It's really more like a dozen of them, which is odd, but it doesn't bother him. Then his gaze twitches a centimeter to the left.

The pile of green hair lying next to the phone hits him like a kick in the ribs.

Fuck.

He slaps on a jacket and shoes and stomps to the lobby of his apartment. It's early enough that no one will see him. The vending machines have cans of coffee for 250 yen. He buys two. When he's back in his apartment, he pounds them both in quick succession with a grimace. He hates putting this crap in his body. But today, he knows he needs the energy. He pointedly ignores the hair and the phone and forces himself to make breakfast. Forces himself to sit down and eat his food like a normal human being. Only when he's washed his dishes and set them to dry does he let himself nudge Deku's hair to the side and pick up his cell phone.

Their normally-quiet group chat exploded in the small hours of the morning. He scrolls back through the recent messages, which are just stupid platitudes and requests for updates from his former classmates until he finds the text that started it.

**Todoroki** _(9:47PM)_ Midoriya is in critical condition, but alive.

Relief washes over him, immediately followed by chagrin. The last he'd heard before the police swept him away was that Deku needed surgery. But seriously? Had he been that worried about him? Nah. Of every hero he knew, Deku could take the biggest beating out of anyone by a mile and still pop upright like an inflatable bouncy house, grinning. It must not be relief about that twerp's condition— Katsuki's just glad he doesn't have to deal with One For All.

He thumbs through the rest of his messages. Apparently, it leaked that Best Jeanist's collaborators got involved despite how the cops smuggled them home; Kirishima has sent him a half-dozen messages since last night wondering if he's alive or not.

"I'm fine, dumbass," he huffs to himself as he writes the same and sends it.

There's one leftover notification from Todoroki messaging him privately. Katsuki opens it.

**Icy-Hot Bastard** _(3:36AM)_ I lied. Midoriya is on life support.  
**Icy-Hot Bastard** _(3:36AM)_ He might not wake up.

_Fuck_. He almost falls out of his chair.

**Me** _(5:57AM)_ what the hell do you mean he might not wake up  
**Icy-Hot Bastard** _(5:58AM)_ He's comatose. They're scheduling more surgeries, but the prognosis is uncertain.  
**Me**_ (5:58AM)_ that's the fastest you've ever responded in your life  
**Me** _(5:59AM)_ why the fuck are you still there. Dont you have a job  
**Icy-Hot Bastard** _(6:02AM)_ My agency and collaborators know the situation. Midoriya's mother needs me.  
**Icy-Hot Bastard** _(6:11AM)_ She asked about you. You should visit.  
**Icy-Hot Bastard** _(6:45AM)_ Bakugou?

* * *

He tears a leaf of paper from a notepad and carefully folds Deku's hair into it. Whether he's dead, dying, or on the mend, the hair still has One For All in it. Can't be too careful. He seals it with a generous amount of tape and slips it into his pocket before he leaves for work.

After a big mission like yesterday's, he should have the day off, but the last thing he wants to do right now is sit around at home. He shows up to Best Jeanist's morning collaborators meeting at the same time he always does. The other heroes at the table give him sidelong looks as if they think he shouldn't be here. Between his fiercest fuck-you stare and Jeanist's calm acceptance of his presence, they knock it off after fifteen minutes. At the end of the meeting, however, just as the others leave the room, Best Jeanist pulls Katsuki aside.

"Bakugou, are you certain you're fit to return to active duty?"

"I'm not your intern anymore." He slides past him through the door.

"Did you engage with the villain that attacked?"

He reels from the microphone that's stuffed in his face the second he leaves the agency, snarling. He can't take a step outside without these damn reporters swarming him like flies. It's not even about _him_— their bullshit's for _Deku_.

"No," he says.

"Do police have any leads on the perpetrator?"

"Ask the cops."

"Can you tell us your impressions of the villain?"

He's gotten better at keeping his head in front of the press since he first started professional hero work. But having developed that skill doesn't mean he hates this situation any less. Heroes aren't meant to stand and talk and smile and wave at an invisible audience; he's here to _act_, to _do shit._ The fact that they're demanding his say on a situation he couldn't do anything about makes him burn. Heat flashes across his skin, and he rounds on the reporter.

"Like hell I would!" he roars into her mic. "You wanna give this fucker publicity? Screen time? That's what these bastards want: attention." She tries to pull away, but he grabs her hand where it's wrapped around the microphone and pulls it close to his mouth. "All I have to say to the sick fucks is this: we're coming for you. You killed a god-damn hero, and you bet your ass I'm gonna find you and make you live to regret it. And anyone else who feels like following in their footsteps? I'm coming for you next."

He thrusts the reporter away from him with a harsh grunt. The outburst will earn points for him in some camps and lose them from others, but he's too worked up to care. He tips his head to address the whole crowd of people, bringing out the meanest voice he has.

"You're all so obsessed with damn Deku you don't think of the ones taking his place. Now let me do my fucking job and go on patrol."

They part, and he doesn't hesitate to shove through the gaps as he goes on his way.

The makeshift packet of hair doesn't leave his possession for a minute, even during hero work. He rubs it between his fingers as he roams the neighborhood, willing himself not to think about its weight. He is wildly unsuccessful. No big jobs come down the pipeline for Best Jeanist, so he's left with area patrols. He takes down petty burglars and pickpockets with a level of aggression that reminds him of his first year in hero work, back before he learned to chill the fuck out. He isn't _trying_ to unleash the typhoon inside him on such puny miscreants; he has to stop himself from pounding them to dust.

Two weeks pass, and Inko Midoriya still hasn't decided whether she should pull the plug.

The hours he doesn't spend on patrol, he occupies with increasingly-ludicrous attempts to get away from the media hounding his every step. Everyone has stayed tight-lipped about Deku's last fight, and they want answers—what kind of power could decimate Japan's favorite, most powerful young hero? And somehow even a vault over a chain-link fence and climbing to the roof of his agency can't shake them off his tail, not even after his furious outburst the very first day.

Todoroki periodically urges him to visit the hospital, but he ignores him. Just the thought of dealing with the weeping woman while Deku vegetates in a hospital bed makes him want to level a parking garage. And so the days pass in a haze of building stress and attempts to pretend One For All isn't sitting in his pocket.

He's at work when the pressure chamber finally pops. Slipknot says something stupid and Katsuki finds himself halfway on top of the conference table before he realizes it, teeth bared as he shouts down the other hero.

"I'm doing my job, aren't I?!"

"Detonation." Best Jeanist says his name, trying to put a stopper in the flood of rage, but Katsuki pushes right past it.

"Who gives a damn if I crack a few skulls, eh?! They assault old ladies and shit, they have it coming!"

"_Detonation_."

"And fuck your media professionalism," he whirls on Warp Thread as she tries to interrupt. "They're getting in my way every other damn minute! They're a swarm of flies making meals off heroes' corpses and I won't play their—"

"_**Bakugou**_."

He breaks himself off mid-sentence and his gaze snaps to Best Jeanist at the head of the table. The older hero's even, placid stare pushes him back into his chair.

"I think it would be best if you leave for the day." Katsuki opens his mouth, face contorted into a snarl and defensive anger rising in his chest, but Best Jeanist cuts him off. "You are emotionally compromised, and your current instability creates a risk to the professionals around you. That is unacceptable. I understand that you are under abnormal stress," he continues, his voice softening. "However, that does not change the situation. I am no longer suggesting but requiring that you take today off and relegate your duties to desk work until the situation is resolved."

Katsuki bites down on his anger and feels a muscle twitch in his jaw. He knows damn well that Best Jeanist is right—his head is far from clear. Still, if he didn't have so much respect for him, he'd tell Best Jeanist exactly where to stick telling what to do.

As it is, he doesn't trust himself to say anything without proving his mentor's point, and he won't give him the satisfaction. He pivots with a frustrated grunt and stalks away. As he crosses the threshold out of the room, Best Jeanist calls out after him.

"Take care of yourself; I am concerned on your behalf."

Shoving himself into civilian clothes takes less time than he expects it to, and he finds himself leaving the agency before the mission briefing is over. Thank fuck for small mercies; it'd be humiliating to be seen walking out of the building in sneakers while everyone else prepped for combat. Outside the back door of the agency, he shoves his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket, hunches his shoulders, and starts walking. Damn Best Jeanist for calling him out like that. Even if he was right, he had no business telling Katsuki when or how to take care of his mental health or whatever the hell it was he was "concerned" about. He wasn't his intern anymore and hadn't been his sidekick for almost five years now. Deku's situation hadn't messed him up that bad. Top Five hero or not, Best Jeanist needed to step off.

A loud siren makes his head snap upright on instinct, all his fuming evaporating as his brain switches into hero mode. He spots the ambulance and is ready to get to work, costume be damned, when he registers the hospital looming over him. Specifically, the hospital they took Deku to.

"Fuck's sake," he mutters to himself. After days of specifically avoiding this place, his feet take him right to it the minute he isn't paying attention.

He's tempted to keep avoiding it. In fact, he would really prefer to leave. But he's already here.

"I'm here to see Midoriya Izuku," he tells the receptionist inside.

"Can I see your ID, please?" She takes it and taps something into the computer. After a moment of looking at the screen, she frowns. "Mr. Midoriya is in a restricted-access wing of the hospital. Do you have documentation verifying your affiliation to the patient?"

Katsuki resists bitching about how stupid this is and pulls out his hero license. Pink rises in the woman's cheeks when she takes a look at it.

"Wow, I can't believe I didn't recognize you," she says as she turns back to her computer to copy the information. A scowl pulls the corners of Katsuki's mouth. He is not in the mood for small talk with a fan. "My son is obsessed. He liked to pretend to fight villains with an explosions quirk as a boy." She slides his license back over the counter, and Katsuki forces himself to say something in reply.

"Kid has good taste."

"Well, ah, if you wouldn't mind… it's not technically protocol, but if there's any chance I could get an autograph… He got into his dream high school…"

He should have kept his damn mouth shut. Or gone to the heroes' entrance.

Against his better judgment, he ends up signing a sticky note to Eisuke Jin while the receptionist prints an access card and points him to the hero ward. He registers again with one of the nurses there, who tells him Deku is in room 121. It's easy enough to find. Somehow, it's damn near impossible to go in.

Only a few days after being almost literally beaten to death, he still looks like someone trapped him in a meat grinder. The skin that isn't bandaged is bruised to hell, and they'd shaved off half his stupid broccoli hair to sew his fucking head back together. An assload of monitors tracks his stuttering pulse and his ragged, forced breath. The muscle bulk he's gained since high school is meaningless now—he seems puny and helpless in the hospital bed. He still looks like a clueless, Quirkless, playground-battered preteen.

Katsuki suddenly can't breathe.

He turns and reaches for the handle. Before he even touches it, however, the door swings into him of its own accord. He rears back, surprised, and then promptly freezes in place at the sight of none other than Todoroki fucking Shouto on the other side. For a moment, neither of them does a thing.

"When the nurse at the desk said you were here to visit, I almost didn't believe her," Todoroki says at last. His voice snaps Katsuki out of whatever stupor he was in.

"Yeah, well, I'm full of surprises." It's almost a relief to be defensive and harsh. This, he knows how to deal with. He tells the caught-stealing-from-the-cookie-jar feeling in his stomach to shut the fuck up.

"What the hell are you doing here? Don't you have a job?"

"I could ask the same of you," Todoroki points out. He takes in Katsuki's surly glare and steps past him into the room, waving the manilla folder in his other hand. "My agency collaborates with Endeavor's, and his building is close. I bring paperwork when I'm off patrol."

Katsuki glowers silently. Todoroki meets his gaze, obviously expecting him to say something. When he doesn't, he scoots the flimsy table from the corner to beside the bed, pulls a chair up to it, and settles down with the papers in his folder.

Katsuki lingers in the corner by the door. He still can't stand this room, but he can't just leave when Icy-Hot's sitting a vigil for Deku's almost-corpse. Like hell, he's going to lose face in front of Half-and-Half. His hands twitch. He flexes them, then curls them into fists. That bastard's gonna pay for making him stay longer.

The remaining chair could almost be considered a couch for all the cushions built into it. He collapses into its arms, tense and bitter as all get-out. The room is silent as Todoroki works — at least, silent as it can get with the half dozen monitor machines. Their whirring and beeping is soft but incessant. He starts to be able to hear the scratch of Todoroki's pen on the paper as well. Slowly but surely, it's driving him a little bit nuts. He forces his muscles to relax. Five seconds later, every inch of him is tense again. Shit, he hates this.

He leans forward in his chair, elbows propped against his splayed knees and his hands folded together between them. He's speaking before he even realizes he's opened his mouth. The words that come out drop like ice into his stomach.

"What did you know about Deku's Quirk?"

Todoroki stills. He hesitates, then the pen in his hand slowly finds its way to resting on the tabletop.

"Only that it's connected to All Might's, somehow," he says carefully. "They're too similar for it to be coincidental."

Katsuki hesitates despite himself. Is the secret of One For All his to tell? The cat's halfway out of the bag already, anyway. And he doesn't want to deal with it.

"All Might and Deku had the same Quirk," he says, shifting on the couch-chair. The cushions wobble treacherously underneath his weight. "It's called One For All, and it accumulates power as it's passed from person to person."

"So Midoriya was All Might's bastard son after all?"

Katsuki shoots Todoroki a withering glare. "You've always been dense as a brick, Icy-Hot."

He lifts a hip out of the cushions to rummage around in his pocket and withdraws the bundle of hair. He picks the paper wrapping open with his fingernails and sets it on top of Todoroki's paperwork. The green looks duller than he remembers it, more disheveled and worn.

"Deku gave this to me before he checked out. Said it was how All Might passed down the Quirk to him. He told me to find the next hero to give it to."

For several long heartbeats, Todoroki doesn't speak.

"Who else knows?"

"I don't fucking know who Deku told! The principal. Maybe Round-Cheeks. I thought he'd have told you after making kissy faces at each other for almost ten years."

"If it's a secret All Might entrusted to him, I doubt he'd spread the knowledge readily. But it explains why he had so little control over himself in our first semester," Todoroki continues. Katsuki snorts, thinking back to when Deku all but spilled it to him right out of the gate at U.A. He had always been such a damn mess.

"Try to find a kid who won't fucking demolish himself this time, 'kay Icy-Hot?"

"I'm sorry?"

"I said, try to find someone less stupid than Midoriya."

"Sorry, you want me to nominate All Might and Midoriya's successor instead of you?"

"Yeah, that's what I'm trying to fucking tell you!"

Todoroki pauses.

"No."

"What the shit, Icy-Hot?"

"I won't do it."

Katsuki slams his hand on the flimsy table; the pen launches itself to the floor on impact and skitters underneath the bed.

"Like hell, you won't! I didn't ask for it, and Deku's not my fucking problem!"

"He trusted you to—"

"Bullshit he did! I never would've given it to him, why the hell would he think I'd choose a good successor?! Me being there when he checked out was pure chance!"

Todoroki stands, frowning. "Don't you think that if he wanted me to do it, then he would have said so?" he retorts, his voice a little louder and much more forceful. "After everything you had to do with his training as a hero, you owe it to him to obey his final wishes."

"Bullshit," Katsuki spits again, but less emphatically. "They're not his final wishes—he's right there, isn't he?" He gestures, and Todoroki's gaze follows his hand. They stare at Deku's unconscious body, his pallid skin, and the shallow, forced rise and fall of his chest. Todoroki turns back toward Katsuki, once again solemn.

"We both know what his chances are of waking up."

_Nonexistent_. But Katsuki can't force the words out from between his lips. He chooses to snarl instead. Pivoting on one foot, he makes for the exit.

"Whatever. If you're not going to be helpful, I don't know why I'm even bothering to put up with you."

The hollow _thump_ and empty _click_ of the closing door sound infinitely louder in the silence of the corridor. Katsuki pauses outside Deku's room, looking blankly at the beige wall across the hall. He's not sure what he's thinking or feeling — nothing, really, his mind and heart seem blanketed with static — but the emptiness fills his senses. He fucking hates it. Anger at the absence heats his chest and he finally relaxes. _This is better_, he thinks, and then his mouth ticks up in the beginnings of a bitter smirk. Seven years out of high school and it's like he's suddenly sixteen again, finding comfort in being pissed.

"Ah, I was beginning to think you'd died standing up." A wry, unfamiliar voice yanks Katsuki from his internal monologue and back into his body, which he forces to look up and find the speaker. In the barren hall, it isn't hard—a lanky young man with acid green hair and a smirk stands a few meters away, watching him. The kid can't be more than sixteen, tops, and he gets the feeling the smirk is a permanent fixture.

"Buzz off, Extra."

"You're the Professional Hero Ground Zero, correct?" Katsuki scowls; half the point of the ridiculous costumes is to keep a hero's civilian life private. But the kid doesn't stop there. "Who were you visiting?"

"What's it to you? Mind your own damn business," he snarls with a threatening glare at the teenager. Who the hell does this kid think he is? If he doesn't step off, Katsuki won't be responsible for whatever happens next.

"A colleague you weren't hero enough to save?"

"You sure have a big mouth, brat." His hands twitch at his sides. "What the hell makes you think you can say that shit, eh?"

"Kyohime Kaoru," he says with a defiant lift to his chin. "You'll soon know me better as your competition."

A caustic leer plasters itself over Katsuki's features. Somebody needs to take this twerp down a few notches. "Oh yeah?"

"I'm the competition for every current hero, actually. You guys can hardly do shit, and I'm gonna be better than all of you. I'll save all the people and other heroes you didn't give a rat's ass about."

_Alright, that's it._

He stalks up to the teen in a few angry strides. A good cuff on the shoulder pushes him up against the wall, and Katsuki cages him there with one arm while the other hand finds the brat's collar.

"Listen up, Kyohime Kaoru," he growls. "I don't know who you are or who the hell you think you are, but you don't have a damn clue what heroes face out there, what kind of ugly shit we beat back from your sheltered, prissy little life every single day. Until you can put your ass where your mouth is, you need to shut the hell up."

He takes half a step back and thrusts Kyohime away from him. The teen stumbles, but Katsuki doesn't look back as he stalks toward the exit.

"I got into U.A.!" Kyohime shouts down the hall. Katsuki still doesn't stop till he's turned the corner, where he pauses mid-stride to hear the bullshit still pouring from Kyohime's mouth. "I got into U.A. and I'm gonna prove it! I'll prove that the pros now are worthless! And I dare you to watch me do it!"

Katsuki snorts, shakes his head, and keeps walking. The kid doesn't have a clue what he's talking about, and even less of an idea what he's in for at U.A. No idea at all.

One week later, Deku's mother decides it's finally time to let him go. Katsuki finds out not from texting with his classmates, but an announcement on TV.

_Our whole country is in mourning today,_ the news anchor is saying, and Katsuki thinks this might be what dissociation feels like. His body has gone weightless, but the packet in his pocket seems to weigh a thousand pounds. _Pro hero Deku, also known as Midoriya Izuku, has officially died. _


	3. 2 - What Missing Means

The day of Deku's death rites, it's raining. Of course it fucking is. Despite that, damn hear half of Tokyo shows up to the public wake.

Principal Nezu himself insisted that U.A. host the event. He spewed some bullshit about honoring an alumnus, but Katsuki knows better. The person who murdered Deku would probably love to attack the people grieving him. Since they couldn't avoid a public display, it might as well be secure for the many civilians.

Katsuki hangs back as waves of mourners approach the casket—closed and probably empty for safety's sake—and leave piles of white _koden _envelopes at Inko Midoriya's feet. Some of them wear mourning clothes; others are decked head to toe in obnoxious Deku merchandise. Looking at them makes his blood boil, so he focuses on the actually-invited guests instead.

Most of his classmates from U.A. are there, lined up like a guard around the outdoor shrine. He glances over each of them with varying degrees of investment. Kirishima is almost unrecognizable with his hair out of their absurd spikes. Todoroki seems pissed while Iida is barely holding it together, stoic only for the sake of Round-Cheeks blubbering her eyes out on Asui's shoulder beside him. A spike of irritation lances through him at the sight, so he turns away from that, too. He doesn't think he can stand to see Mrs. Midoriya's face, nor Aizawa's beside her. It leaves him with one direction left to look: right at the damn ground.

Drizzle trickles down the back of his neck. They'll be out here for hours, half out of respect for their dead classmate, half out of pure obligation. It's fine by him; he needs a minute to be still and think.

His fingers trace the crumpled packet in his pocket. Deku's hair, carrying the power of One For All. He wants it fucking gone. Too bad he has shit-all ideas who to pass it on to. Deku's agency was too green for sidekicks, and he hadn't mentored any interns.

"You couldn't make it easy for me, huh, shitty Deku," he mutters under his breath.

Japan adored the hero Deku. The little shit had zipped into the top ten rank in popularity in the blink of an eye after his professional debut, buoyed by publicity from their U.A. days and his humble, amicable bearing. Even other, older heroes praised his enthusiasm and admitted how inspiring he was. His death is a punch in the gut to the entire nation. Who the hell is Katsuki to determine who replaces him?

_He wouldn't have picked you if he had a choice_, he reminds himself coarsely. _He knew you were his only shot; he knew he was about to die._

So, if Deku _had _gotten his pick, who would he saddle with it? Katsuki thinks about the people he and All Might had been close to. Aizawa would be smart about it, but Deku was a dumbass who would choose an heir by feelings, not through logic. Iida is too uptight; Asui is so straightforward that keeping a secret might actually fucking kill her. Round-Cheeks is a good bet, but she isn't real inclined toward mentorship. Which leaves the icy-hot bastard. He has to convince him.

When he looks up, the mourners have started to dissipate. It won't be long before the heroes shoo the rest of them off school grounds. Katsuki approaches Todoroki.

"Oi, Icy-Hot." Todoroki's face pops up from glowering at the grass. The anger Katsuki saw in his eyes before is still there, but it wavers for a moment.

"Bakugou."

"I need to talk to you after these extras have cleared out." He ticks his head to indicate the civilians, not-accidentally grouping some former classmates in the 'extras' category. Todoroki's eyebrows furrow.

"If this is about our discussion the other day—"

"Just do it, bastard." Katsuki leans back and finds the gaze of his former teacher on them. "You too, Eraserhead."

He takes a little bit of satisfaction in leaving his old teacher confused as irritation carves Todoroki's face into a frown.

A while later, the civilians are gone. Inko Midoriya makes her way to each of the pro heroes in attendance, wrapping them in her arms and thanking them for whatever. Katuski watches Todoroki hold an umbrella over her head and escort her to a waiting car, then mingle with their former classmates. His hands linger on Yaoyorozu's trembling shoulders, and Katsuki can't help but roll his eyes at the obvious tension between them. Eventually, he joins Katsuki and Aizawa at the door to U.A.

"I apologize for the delay."

"Tsch, whatever." Katsuki turns to their former teacher. "We need somewhere private."

Aizawa raises a brow by just an increment, then collapses into a resigned slouch and heads for the school's front entrance with a mutter.

It's weird to be back inside the school again, especially when it's dead-quiet. He's bitterly unsurprised when Aizawa takes them to a certain small room adjacent to the teacher's lounge, furnished with a pair of couches and a tea cooler on the center table. Katsuki pauses a half-step inside the door. The room looks exactly like it did ten years ago. He almost expects to see All Might and Deku sitting there yammering at each other about something inane and dweeby. But they aren't, and they never will be again. Instead, it's just Aizawa flinging himself onto the couch, his eyes cloudier than Katsuki remembers them being, and Todoroki settling against the other armrest, looking stiff.

"So, care to let us in on why we're here?" Aizawa says. A scowl pulls at the edges of Katsuki's mouth. The sooner this is done and over with, the happier he'll be.

"Sure. Deku asked me to find someone to give his Quirk to, and I'm not interested."

Todoroki's expression darkens, but Aizawa's is just blank.

"You're shitting me," Katsuki mutters. He looks closer, but he can't read his old teacher's face. "Are you telling me you don't know shit about Deku's Quirk? Our teacher?"

Aizawa folds his arms across his chest and leans against the back of the couch.

"Why don't you tell me what I'm supposed to know."

"Todoroki already knows, I told him a couple days ago," he begins. He leans forward on the couch and explains it all to Aizawa—One For All, All Might, and Deku's final words. Somewhere in the midst of the explanation, he pulls the paper hair packet from his trousers and sets it on the table in between them. It's somehow both a memorial and a little threat.

For several long heartbeats after he finishes, the room is dead silent. Their teacher breaks the quiet with a heavy exhale.

"It was obvious the day he walked into class that there was a connection between him and All Might. No one would've recognized it by the time you kids went pro, but the similarity was always there. But I'll admit, the fact that it can be transferred like that is a surprise."

"Bakugou wants me to locate One For All's successor for him," Todoroki adds, and Katsuki shoots him a dirty, angry glare. Their eyes meet, and Icy-Hot seems unfazed. "I told him that I wouldn't."

"Good. Todoroki won't be finding anybody." Aizawa's voice is as much of a cold rain on Katsuki's parade as it was when he was a student. Thunder rages in his chest.

"Oh yeah?!" He rises from the couch a little bit, jaw tense. "You gonna find the heir instead, Eraserhead?!"

"No. You're going to follow through on your commitment to Midoriya Izuku." Katsuki jumps to his feet.

"Like hell I am! The shit went and died on his own— it's not my fucking problem!"

He's ready to keep yelling but stops short at the sound of a knock. All three of them look toward the door in confusion. Before any of them answers, it opens to reveal Principal Nezu on the other side.

"Hello, gentlemen!" he greets them as he steps inside and pulls the door shut behind him. Aizawa stands and greets him with a muttered "Principal"; Katsuki and Todoroki stare in baffled silence. Nezu fills a cup of tea from the cooler, then makes his way to Katsuki's side of the couch.

"You were discussing the issue of One For All, yes?" Nezu asks as he situates himself on the cushions. Katsuki opens his mouth to ask how the hell he knew, but Nezu plows right through his intake of breath in a nonchalant, sing-song voice. "You know, All Might coming to teach at U.A. wasn't a mere flight of whimsy. Although he found Izuku Midoriya before the academic year began, he intended to identify a worthy heir among the incoming first-year class."

"Are you saying Bakugou should do the same?" Todoroki asks at the same time as Katsuki himself spits "Is this a job offer?!" Nezu nods.

"Indeed. I believe the logic behind that approach remains strong." He sets his tea on the armrest so he can stand up in his chair and extend a paw—hand?—to Katsuki. "I invite you, Bakugou Katsuki, Pro Hero Ground Zero, to join the faculty at U.A. high school."

"Isn't he a little young to teach?" Aizawa grumbled.

"I trust that all our more experienced faculty can help pass down their wisdom to a younger instructor."

"What the hell makes you think that I'd be a good teacher, eh?!" Katsuki barks, his voice only barely softer than a yell.

"Well, we aren't just giving you a whole class to teach by yourself with no training. That would be ludicrously irresponsible of me. Instead, we'll have you co-teach first-year homeroom and heroics courses with Aizawa and Vlad King, respectively, and give poor old Vlad a break from proctoring the dormitories. He's been begging me to dial down his duties now for years."

"Doesn't that leave a homeroom class without a teacher?" Todoroki asks. Nezu and Aizawa exchange a look, then the latter shakes his head.

"No, it doesn't. Our application pool was smaller than usual this year. In the end, we decided to take on just a single class of first-year hero students, so we wouldn't have to pad the groups with students who couldn't keep up."

Katsuki grinds his teeth together. He doesn't want to teach—he knows he'll be God-awful at it—but if Aizawa and Icy-Hot won't take the burden of One For All off him, this is the smartest choice. He'll have access to two dozen kids who already have what it takes to get into U.A. and every resource he could conceivably want to train the brat he chooses. It really can't get any easier. He throws up his hands.

"_Fine_, whatever. I'll come teach at U.A."

Nezu claps his paws together.

"Oh, delightful. I will arrange for the paperwork to be sent to your agency, and you should expect a few visits to campus to get you set up in the next several days." The principal slides out of his chair and approaches him, offering his paw. Katsuki shakes it. "Other matters require my attention, so you must excuse my departure. Term begins in three weeks. Take care, Bakugou."

Katsuki waits until the door closes behind him to mutter, "Friggin' mouse."

* * *

_Four weeks previous, on the day that Deku died._

The call comes at four in the afternoon, which is a weird time for an emergency. It's even weirder when the caller ID he sees over Best Jeanist's shoulder isn't for the local police. Katsuki makes to leave, assuming it's a call he isn't meant to listen to, but he stops cold at the door when Jeanist lifts the receiver and answers with:

"Where?"

He doesn't like the dark look in Best Jeanist's eyes. It isn't fear—the man's seen too much shit for anything to faze him by now—but it's something akin to it. Dread, that's what it is. Jeanist looks up and locks eyes with him, and he knows he should be feeling it too.

"Understood. We'll be sending Detonation's group ahead of us." He puts the receiver down, and he doesn't waste any time. Katsuki is ready. He follows Best Jeanist's long strides out of his office and toward the door. "Massive combat, hero Deku versus an un-identified combatant. Six block radius on the collateral. Assess on arrival."

He bites out the snippets of information rapid-fire. By the time they reach the sidekick's desks, Katsuki's ready to go.

"This is an emergency," Jeanist finishes. "I said we would send your agency, collectively, but—"

"I'll get there faster alone."

Jeanist offers a terse nod.

"Do not break another of my windows."

"Nah, shitty Deku's not worth the crap you'd give me."

He's on the roof seconds later, gauntlets cinched tight to his arms.

He blasts across town a few notches below his top speed. Scenarios flick through his mind alongside rescue and combat techniques. He has no idea what waits for him other than a damn mess—Best Jeanist's briefing was sparse at best. But leave it to Deku to cause six fucking blocks of collateral damage.

He understands the scarcity of information once he arrives at the scene. Deku's fight hasn't just wrecked six blocks, it's leveled them, and there's debris scattered several streets down from the nearest collapsed building. Ash and dust choke the air; he can't see shit below the fifth story of the buildings. He lands on a roof and leans over the edge. There's a Deku-shaped imprint in the wall right beneath him, but he can't hear any fighting.

"What the hell…"

The first priority is civilians. It's a residential area on a workday, so most people shouldn't have been home when shit hit the fan.

"Oi! Anybody here?!" Silence. What the hell?

"Detonation—"

"_SHIT_!"

He almost has a fucking heart attack at the sound of Best Jeanist's voice right in his ear. His arm goes to fling the headset off on instinct, but he stops himself in time to clap a hand over his ear instead.

"Detonation, here." Why was he so on edge?

"We've satellite located a cadre of injured civilians is assembled at the furthest south-southwestern edge of the damage."

"On my way." He launches from the edge of the building, eyes trained on the smoke below. He doesn't want any surprises, and his gut's telling him that there's a nasty one hiding somewhere in the haze.

"What is the situation?"

"Whole neighborhood's trashed, but I can't hear any fighting. It's fucking weird."

"Assess the injured, then go find the villain."

He wants to tell him he can do his own damn job, but he spots a cluster of bodies through a gap in the clouds of dust and knows that mouthing off can wait. He angles his arms beneath him and descends.

The civilians who can stand do so as he lands. They creep close to him with small, wary steps as he glances around at their surroundings. They've clustered together in the middle of the street, in the cup of a crater in the concrete that's miraculously clear of rubble. The area seems safe enough—at least, as much as he can tell. He still can't hear the actual fight. Of the several dozen people in the area, maybe five of them are laid out on their backs, some of them in growing puddles of blood and others in various states of brokenness and unconsciousness.

"Anyone who isn't literally dying, sit over there!" he commands, pointing to one side of the depression. "I don't want a peep out of you!"

They look at him with wide-eyed alarm at his brusqueness, which is pretty much par for the course for him on rescue missions, but then obediently shuffle over to their spot. A man with scruffy dark hair lifts his hand up.

"Detonation? I'm a doctor."

"Then get over here and help me with these guys." Katsuki jerks his head toward the handful of gravely injured. He skims their battered forms and picks out one that looks most perilous; he pulls medical supplies from his utility belts on autopilot as he kneels beside her. The doctor similarly gets to work beside him. There's not much either of them can do with just a field kit, though.

Katsuki presses a finger to his comm.

"I found the civilians. We have a few with serious injuries— get EMS here as soon as possible. The area around them is secure for pickup, but something isn't right."

"Copy that."

"Get another pro here immediately." The sense of foreboding in his stomach is growing by the second.

He splints one lady's leg and carries her to the not-about-to-die side of their little safe zone. As he sets her down, he notes a funky little zipping sound and knows one of his co-workers has arrived.

"Threadz."

"Detonation."

"These people here are all okay, considering the circumstance. Dark-hair guy is giving medical aid with my field kit. Area seems fine, but my gut tells me this isn't everything."

"You think more casualties?"

"Nah. I mean, _sure_, but that's not it… Why can't we hear the fight that wrecked shit like this?" He gestures, and comprehension dawns in Threadz' eyes. "You're on for protecting these people," he continues, nodding at the crater. He curls his hands into fists and looks into the hazy sky. "I'm gonna find Deku."

Instinct and an educated guess tell him to head for the middle of the mess. As he pushes to the epicenter, the destruction only gets worse. It borders on apocalyptic. Images pop into his head against his will—unbidden flashbacks to the dark night in Kamino Ward when All Might struggled for his life. He shakes the memories away with a growl and refocuses just in time to dodge a refrigerator-size block of concrete careening through the sky toward him. Katsuki blasts himself to the side without an inch to spare and tumbles roughly to a roof below. Impact knocks the breath from him with a deep full-body grunt.

"Guess you found the fucking fight," he wheezes to himself. For a fraction of a second longer, he just lies there, veins filling up with fire.

The glass and gravel embedded in his skin go unnoticed as he hauls himself to the edge of the building and jumps. He still can't see the ground but makes a beeline for where the concrete must have launched from. A block away from where his mark is—at least, what used to be a block and now is just two hundred meters of rubble—he drops down into the screen of dust and goes on foot. Somehow, on the ground, the sounds of combat that he couldn't hear before are loud and crystal clear. The ambiance of cracking pavement and crashing metal are interspersed with the impact of feet and fists on flesh and a bunch of Deku's grunts and wordless shouts. He stumbles through the haze in the direction of the noise, swerving around pillars and overturned cars that just appear out of the dirty air like ghosts.

His entire body goes rigid as Deku cries out—not yells, but cries, a sound of pain he hasn't heard out of him since their first year at U.A.—and the city shakes beneath his feet, forcing him to one knee to stay stable as the rumble of another big collapse rattles his bones. When it, whatever it was, is done crumbling, the area has once again gone quiet. The light scrape of his boot on the road sounds loud against the quiet.

Once again Katsuki stumbles through the haze, making the most of the two-meter visibility to pick his way to where he last heard Deku. He doesn't feel like running smack-dab into some huge, painful obstacle, but his pace feels like a fucking snail's crawl in the wake of what he thinks he just heard happen.

Like everything else in the wreckage, Deku's battered form appears out of nowhere from the dust. He would have walked right past him if it wasn't for the thin wheeze he hears off to the side, pulling his eyes toward the crumbled remains of a building facade. An instant stretches into forever. Deku lies there, his shock of green hair choked with gray and clumps of blood that match the rivers streaming down his face and arms, dripping to the concrete underneath his fucked-up leg. His neck's cranked at an awful angle, trapped between a pile of bricks and a foot bearing down on his chest. Katsuki can't make out the villain. A thick snap precedes a pitiful wail that rips itself from Deku's throat before he slumps a little further underneath his captor's shoe.

He creeps a little closer, just a couple paces more. Deku's speaking, but it's muted by the blood and swollen bruising clogging up his mouth. From here, he can't understand what he just said. But the villain can, and Katsuki feels the pressure in his own chest build as the villain bends down over Deku and grinds his heel deeper into his ribs. Deku's body shudders violently. Katsuki takes a careless half step forward before he can stop himself. His boot scrapes against the pavement, and the villain's eyes snap to on to his. It takes a split second for him to realize this is very fucking bad, and then thick static fills his brain.

* * *

He all but vaults himself out of bed, cold sweat clinging to his every inch in a thin film of terror. He stomps around his room with no direction in the dark, pounding feeling back into his feet and legs and grunting every breath to bring him back to his own body. He finally stops in front of the chest of drawers, where he bends over. His forehead is sticky on his wrists as he rests them both atop its surface. Mixed scents of human sweat and nitroglycerin fill his nostrils, and it brings his racing heart back down to something that resembles resting pace. That smells right—like his skin and his room, not the dust and acrid smoke of Deku's final battleground. When he pushes back upright, his hand goes straight for the packet set against the mirror. He doesn't open it, just rolls the paper bundle in between his fingers once or twice. As long as it's still here, he knows it's still intact.

It ends up tucked into his pocket as he tumbles back into bed. He sits right back up again when he registers the sweat-soaked sheets. Maybe at home, he could risk an accidental flare-up of his Quirk, but there's no way he can do that here. Nezu would take the cost of re-building the Heights Alliance dorms right out of Katsuki's paycheck if his bed became a bomb canister.

For now, he piles the explosive bedding on the floor at the foot of his bed-frame. He learned to keep spares handy for nights like this during high school, so he pulls a fitted sheet out from his night-stand and shoves it on. He flops back onto the mattress with no blanket, still on-edge, every muscle tense and hot with the tension of a fight-or-flight response.

A heavy, shaky breath leaves his chest. Even after months, the unidentified villain is still haunting him. The dreams are all he has for a memory of that monster. Any time he tries to dredge up an image of that person, nothing comes but awful, overwhelming static. No amount of trying brings back the killer's face. He doesn't know if it's his own brain being stupid or the villain's Quirk, but it ticks him off.

He lies there for an hour before he gives up on falling back asleep.

He scowls when he flicks on the lamp beside his bed, then again when his eyes land on the thick manila envelope sitting right beside it. All his teaching materials are supposed to be in there— student profiles and curriculum and whatever other shit Nezu and Aizawa thought they needed to saddle him with. Maybe he'll be able to pick the successor out just by looking at their photo, and then he can get the hell out of here and go back to his actual fucking life outside U.A. Even as he thinks that, though, he knows it's total bull. No, he's stuck with this miserable, teenager-filled fate.

Only one person gets him out of moods like this. He forces himself out of bed once again and locates his phone in the office. He fires off a text and braces for what's sure to be an enthusiastic response.

On his way out the door a while later, he picks up the teaching folder to review it on the train. Whether he likes it or not, he's gonna be a teacher. And if he doesn't have a choice in it, he'll be the best goddamn teacher U.A.'s ever seen.


End file.
